Chronicles of New Haven
by smashhog
Summary: It's been two years since the dead came out of their graves. These are the chronicles of a quiet town, New Haven, secluded in the mountains of southern Wisconsin, told through the perspective of permanent residents and from refugees of the ravaged world.
1. A Scattered Introduction

"Alright, what's your story?"

_Bzzt._

"People say it started years ago."

_Bzzt._

"Something about a leaked virus…no…wait…"

_Bzzt.  
_"We tried to get away-."

_Bzzt. _

"-too fucking fast man-."

_Bzzt._

"We tried to save Mittens… the family cat…"

_Bzzt. _

"It all happened so suddenly…"

_Bzzt. _

"People all went out into the streets-."

_Bzzt. _

"We managed to get into our car."

_Bzzt. _

"A couple of houses were on fire-."

_Bzzt. _

"-the smell-."

_Bzzt. _

"They were my goddamned neighbors, man!"

_Bzzt. _

"First thing was to find somewhere safe."

_Bzzt. _

"Somewhere where those fuckers couldn't get us."

_Bzzt. _

"Ain't that a pisser, ran outta gas at Almond."

_Bzzt. _

"It was the government, man."

_Bzzt. _

"Some people started talking about other places-."

_Bzzt. _

"Seemed like it spread everywhere!"

_Bzzt. _

"Just don't get bitten, best advice I can give you…"

_Bzzt. _

"Wish I had said goodbye…wish I could have…"

_Bzzt. _

"And what the hell has the President done for us?"

_Bzzt. _

"We thought everyone was dead."

_Bzzt. _

"-the _smell_-."

_Bzzt. _

"You could see it all on TV."

_Bzzt. _

"Been travelin' fo weeks."

_Bzzt. _

"I had to bash my neighbor of fifteen years' head in with a _fucking shovel_."

_Bzzt. _

"No one, I repeat _no one _try to go to the city."

_Bzzt. _

"Fucking hell-hole there…"

_Bzzt. _

"And what about the children?"

_Bzzt. _

"Kids turn quicker, that's for sure!"

_Bzzt. _

"We have no future."

_Bzzt. _

"Once you're bitten, might as well off yourself-."

_Bzzt. _

"-a nightmare-."

_Bzzt. _

"It's _Lord of the Flies _out there."

_Bzzt. _

"More like 'Lord of the Dead'"

_Bzzt. _

"-a _fucking nightmare_-."

_Bzzt. _

"God help us all."


	2. Prologue: New Haven

I do not, in any way, own the _Dawn of the Dead _franchise, or any other Zombie-related movie/television show/music/clothing company. I just really like Zombies.

**Prologue: New Haven **

"And then I found New Haven."

"_Yeah, it's weird. The first time I catalogued someone they had just gotten out of the city, been held up in a shopping mall. It was a girl, can't remember the name, Margaret maybe? Said there was a group of people who had escaped, gotten onto a boat and sailed off. No telling what happened to them, but the important thing was that this girl had found us. We had just put up the fences, and here comes this deranged chick running at us like she was a goddamned Deader. Naturally a couple of guys, Gus and Fred I think, got scared and tried to shoot her down. Thank God she could still speak, or she never would've gotten past 'em. Anyways, we brought her in, checked her out-and this was after the Gregory scare mind you, couldn't take any chances-found everything OK; she was just messed up in the head. That's when I asked to catalogue her, y'know, for historic purposes. Our first survivor. Then the population was just, what, four hundred I think? Well four hundred and one, after her. We decided to make a business out of it, turned ourselves into a refugee camp of sorts. Anyways, I sat her down in Gus' Eat-In and catalogued her. She was kinda nervous about the camera, but got used to it. So did I. It was hard listening to her story at first; hadn't witnessed nearly one tenth of the stuff she had. But we got it down, and that's all that matters. When we got done, we gave her a place to stay. Food to eat…everything seemed fine. She killed herself the next day, found her hanging from the rafters in the Visitor's Center. We still have her catalogued, but I haven't mustered up the energy to watch it again. _

New Haven, Wisconsin. Just outside of Milwaukee. Nestled in between the Milwaukee Mountains, the town remains untouched by the disaster of the outside world. Two years have passed since the Originator took a bite out of a laboratory assistant, and the dead came out of their graves.

"_We call 'em Deaders, because they're deader than dead."_

And then the whole country went. It spread like wildfire, and the United States of America became the United States of the Dead. And then the whole world went.

"_A cure for it?"_

The disease, coined the Flesh Virus, spread through bodily contact with the infected host. Any ingestion of blood or bodily fluids of an infected, or transmittance through saliva or physical contact, resulted in transference of the virus. The virus, in general, planted itself in the cerebrum of the host and took control of the basic functions that make humans "human". The virus would eat away at those functions, until the brain arrived at its lowest possible level, reverting it back to am animalistic behavior that reflected that of a rabid dog. The host would become enraged and hell-bent on eliminating, and consuming anything in its path. The virus wasn't specific to humans; soon dogs, cats, birds, any carbon-based life form became infected with the virus. Rumor had it that the Originator was of primate-origin.

"_A bullet through the head's the only cure I know of."_

The severing of the cerebrum from the spinal cord, or just any damaging of the brain (what's left of it) causes the infected to shut down any after-life functions. Any other attempts to destroy the infected, such as severing limbs, are futile.

"_I once, I shit you not, saw just a head with the spine still attached rolling around in the Dead Zone. Scared the Hell outta me." _

Designated "Dead Zones" were established in areas where the infected were extremely concentrated. The closest Dead Zone to New Haven happened to be the city of Milwaukee, which had turned into a Mecca of the undead. Anyone who wandered into these Dead Zones were usually bent on scavenging, or mislead by false assurance of safety within the city walls. Military agents, or what was left of them, continually monitored these zones, receiving orders from an unknown agency.

"_We've had a few agents in town, passing through, usually on their way to Milwaukee or Chicago. You know they're still looking for a cure? Shit, when are they ever gonna give up?" _

It's been two years. The world has been turned upside down, nations decimated, populations exterminated. A recent survey conducted by analysts in New York provided the number of living to be somewhere around two percent of the original population. And that number was shrinking drastically.

"_I love this place. It's safe, and the people are good. What else could you ask for?" _

Areas like New Haven have become "safe havens" for struggling survivors.

"_Maybe no more Deaders, but that's pretty much it."_

These are the chronicles of New Haven, collected by the residents (both alive and deceased) over the past two years, and beyond to the uncertain future.

"_It's an assuring thing, y'know. Knowing that this place is here. Guess that's why so many survivors have showed up here. It's Hell out there, and haven in here. Catchy, huh?" _


	3. Chapter One: Man of the Hour

**Chapter One: The Man of the Hour **

Frederick Farraday waltzed down the empty morning alley adjacent to his hardware store. A light mist hung in the air as he took the trash from inside out to the trash can. He hoisted the heavy bag into the metal cylinder and located the lid a few feet away, placing it back onto the circle-top of its counterpart. Fred made his way back to the front of his store, which faced the gaping mouth of Cornwallace Street, New Haven's Broadway, and flipped on the electric _Open _sign outside of the window. Across from him, on the left side of the street, his wife raised the shutters concealing the inside of her arts and crafts store, "Lucy's Lucky Charms". Lucy waved to her husband from behind the glass, and her husband blew a kiss back. The sun was just now peeking over the mountain tops.

Cornwallace harbored a good nine or ten establishments before emptying out onto a courtyard where the town hall stood tall and majestic against a forestry backdrop. Here was where all roads met, coming from the neighborhoods and leading out to larger, busier roads, the main of which led up the mountainside and ended with a tunnel leading to a highway. A tall, barbed fence enclosed New Haven, outlining its perimeter and sealing off the only exit to the outside world, the tunnel. Along this fence were several surveillance towers, where volunteers from the town got up, or got down from them, to watch over the quite settlement. This morning happened to be Roger Greene's shift on the north tower, Tom Baker's on the south, Harold Hatcher's on the east, and Betty Grave's on the west. Each were armed with a hunting rifle, scavenged from an outdoor's retailer in the city, and a radio transmitter used to communicate between towers and the town hall. Days were usually quiet; no Deader dared come over the mountain or down the valley, but only if they were on the brink of starvation would anyone catch sight of a stray infected.

The sun had nearly broken free of the mountain's grasp. The paper boy saddled on to his sleek, red bicycle and began his round down Cornwallace. He tossed a paper to the front step of Gus' Eat-In, where Gus Patchio happily collected it. Bringing it to his face, Gus began to read about reports from around town, and quickly flipped to the World View section. This section of the _New Haven Collector_ gathered information picked up on radio frequencies which broadcasted from around the world.

Gus frowned. Nothing new, there was still a war in China, London was still overtaken by Deaders, and the President of the United States was still MIA. He entered his establishment and tossed the paper behind the front desk. He followed the paper, picking up a broom as he walked and began sweeping the red-tiled floor behind the counter. The bell above the doorway gave a happy _ting _as a man in suit entered the Dine-In.

"Morning Mr. Douglas," Gus said, without even looking up from his work behind the counter.

"Morning Gus, coffee, black as usual," Jeffery Douglas beamed and placed the briefcase in his hand next to a stool, and pulled himself up to the counter. Gus magically withdrew a pot of pure black coffee from nowhere and began to pour the warm sustenance into a mug.

"How's the wife?" Gus asked, handing him the steaming cup.

"Busy as usual, counting supplies, and recounting, and counting again." He chuckled and brought the mug to his lips. Upon tasting the hot liquid inside, a smile stretched across his face. Holding the mug up, he exclaimed, "A damn fine cup of coffee!"

"Coming from the Mayor, that's a damn fine compliment," Gus chuckled and bowed from behind the counter. Another ring from the doorway and in rushed Mary Swinley, adjusting her apron as she walked. The sun illuminated the back of her head, lining her radiant auburn hair with golden sparks, as if she was dropped from Heaven. She smelled of cigarettes.

"You're late Mary-Jane," Gus said once again without looking up from his work.

"Sorry Boss," Mary huffed, "had a little trouble with Dixie, is Rio in the back?"

A loud crashing sound rang out from behind the counter, and a faint curse could be heard. Gus sighed and went to the door leading into the back of the establishment. Swinging it open, he yelled, "Rio, ya goddamned klutz, what'd ya break this time?"

"Nothing sir!" a worried voice came from behind the doorway, more rustling could be heard.

"Mary," Gus called the girl over, "get back there and see what the damage is."

"Yes Boss…" Mary complied and went through the doorway, closing the door behind her. Gus chuckled and picked up his broom once more. Jeffery smiled from behind his mug and finished off the last drops of coffee. He placed the mug back onto the counter and raised his wrist to his face. The watch greeted him, seven forty-seven exactly. Time to move on.

"Well, I'm off," Jeffery said, rising from his seat, briefcase in hand, "Here's three, just keep the change."

"You know I can't do that," Gus said, grabbing the dollar bills with his fat palm, "But just this once, okay?"

"That's what you said yesterday," Jeffery laughed, "And the day before that, and the day before that…"

"Yeah, yeah, get to work. We need someone to run this town!" With that, Jeffery Douglas left the building, and River Greene rushed in. Brushing past the mayor, River gave a quick, "Sorry, sir," and rushed up to the counter. Jeffery smiled. _The man of the hour is here. _He swung the door shut and made his way down Cornwallace.

River nearly slammed into the counter. Through rushed breaths, he looked up to Gus, still working with the broom, and asked, "Is…Rio…in?"

"In the back Mr. Greene," Gus threw a thumb to the back of the establishment, behind the door. He then stopped his work, finally, and glanced up at the young man. River's curly, dirty blonde hair tumbled over his eyes, exposing just bits of his bright green eyes.

"Is it today?" Gus asked solemnly.

"Yeah, it's today," River answered, walking past Gus towards the door.

"You need a haircut!" Gus called after him as he disappeared into the depths of the establishment. Had River any time to retort, he would lose focus on his goal. He called out for Rio, his voice echoing throughout the concealed kitchen. Suddenly Rio peeked his tan head out from the storage closet, a look of nervousness crossed his face. He whispered to his loudmouthed friend, "Ay, shut yer trap and get back here." River sighed and walked hurriedly towards the storage closet. Upon reaching the closet, he froze. What his eyes laid rest on was a bent over Mary, nearly exposing herself to the world, picking up a pile of broken plates as carefully as she could. Rio clasped his hands together, as if praying to some higher being, and pleaded, "Don't tell Pops, please!"

"Why the Hell would I tell your dad?" River shook his head, still staring down. Not at the plates though. "I need the camera."

"Oh yeah, you're doing…um…Ben right? Today?"

"Yep, that's him. I need the camera," River sounded rushed. Rio picked up on this, and began searching in the closet shelves.

"How's it going, River?" said the angelic voice he had been waiting for.

"Going?" River stammered for a millisecond, "It's going, ha. How are you?"

She smiled at him. "You always have a way with words. I'm fine," she resumed picking up the shards of porcelain, "just cleaning up after Butter-Fingers here."

"You know," Rio pulled out the HD handheld video camera from a secret location in the shelf, "you're a Nutter Butter, because all any guy wants to do is-."

"Finish that sentence, and you die," Mary waved a finger warningly at Rio's face.

"If I die," Rio handed River the camera, "Imma come back and bite yo ass fo' that!"

"Rio, chill," River received the camera, checked the battery, "You'll have plenty of time to make fun of Mary at the party tonight."

"Which is going to be TIGHT!" Rio raised a hand for a high five, but was met with the condescending gaze of Greene's eyes.

"Rio…" River shook his head.

"Nobody says "tight", anymore," Mary finished and giggled, tossing the remaining shards into a now filled garbage bag. River matched her laugh. Rio gawked and retorted, "Alright, alright. Pick on the Mexican why don't cha? Will see how funny it is when-."

A gun shot. The room went silent. Even from a half a mile away, the rifle could still be heard.

* * *

"Fuck…" Roger Greene began to reload the smoking hunting rifle. First Deader of the day, and he _missed_. He fumbled with the sleek, 7 mm cartridge until it snapped into the chamber of the rifle. Pulling back on the bolt, he quickly placed the scope back to his ocean blue eye. Sweat formed on the ridge of his brow. He coughed, and aligned the crosshairs of the scope with the rotten head of the Deader. The target was a good six hundred yards away, and fumbling around a luscious pine tree. Roger's position was faced towards the valley which led into a marsh, just before the city of Milwaukee. The marsh was a designated burial ground for any Deader; the bodies floated like black logs on the surface.

Roger held his breath. He could almost smell the rotting flesh. The head of the Deader turned to face him, and looked straight into the scope. As if it could see right into him. A second past, and then another, and with a loud, quick pop the rotting face in the scope split in two, exposing grey matter and spraying blood onto the green pine needles. The dead body fell to the ground, crashed and crumpled into a heap of flesh and broken bones. The blood came and stopped, and silence returned to the valley. Roger breathed out and relaxed the rifle. He laid it back beside his chair, and pulled out a small notebook and pen. He marked down the date, and the kill, which would make it…

_"Roger, everything okay up there?" _The voice hissed through the radio, causing Roger to jump a little. After regaining himself, he picked up the CB and pressed to talk.

"Forty-three, mark that down. Looks like I beat your record Gus…"

* * *

"Son of a bitch," Gus chuckled as he listened through his radio. He shook his head and pressed down on the CB.

"By one? Won't last long Rambo, just wait until I get back up there!"

"Dad got one?" River appeared from behind the door, his two companions trailing him.

"Yeah, your Pop's got me by one."

"Way to go dad!" River called into the CB, which Gus happened to have pressed to talk.

_"River? Don't you need to be cataloguing Ben?" _

"Oh crap," River glanced up at the Betty-Boop clock above them. He felt for the camera in his hands, and turned to leave.

_"Hey River?" _The voice interjected one last time.

"Yeah dad?" River called to his father, Gus holding the CB up so that it'd pick up his voice.

_"Go easy on him, he's a lot more…fragile than the others."_

"Alright, will do," River ignored his statement. He had catalogued so many people now, he didn't even recognize fragile. Someone was "fragile" when they attempt to blow their brains out the minute they reach New Haven. Luckily, he only had to deal with that once before. Before he could reach the exit, another voice rang out, "Don't forget!"

He looked back to see Mary standing on her tippy-toes.

"Nine o'clock!" River smiled and gave a thumbs-up to his friends. And with that he left Gus' Eat-In. Turning right, he faced the sidewalk leading towards Town Hall, put one step forward and raced down the drowsy morning street.


	4. Chapter Two: Ben

**Chapter Two: Ben **

"Here, hold this up."

River was seated in an enclosed room with a flickering LED lantern hanging over his head. The room was just lit enough to expose the worn body of Benjamin Grecky, whom sat across from River in a comfortable lobby-chair. Ben's face, exposed by the white light, bore scars across his right eye and cheek, and a part of his ear was missing. He had brown hair, with streaks of white here and there, and bright blue eyes which reflected the light in the room. His cheek bones were clearly visible, possibly the doing of slight starvation. His lips were pursed, dried and cracked from thirst. He had aged quite a bit in those two years.

River held out a slab with the writing:

**_Catalogue #53_**

**_Subject: Benjamin R. Grecky _**

**_Age: 36 _**

etched in black marker.

"Is this part of the "catalogue"," Ben hesitated.

"Yes, that and the video camera set up next to me."

"Well, at least I took a shower this morning," he joked and received the slab from River. He looked at the slab, and turned his attention to River, who was motioning for him to, "Hold it here."

Ben held the slab in the middle of his torso, and smiled cockily.

"Feel like I'm getting a mug shot."

"Well," River was adjusting the video camera on its stand to match with the light of the room, "we get that a lot. Just think of it as a self portrait, or autobiography." The camera's lens focused and unfocused, making little electronic hisses with each reflex. Ben looked past the cameraman and to the mirror behind him. He recognized a mirror like this before.

"We're being watched, aren't we?"

"Yeah," river didn't look up from his work, "Gotta make sure nothing bad happens to me or you down here."

"Right," Ben's tone dropped and he stared at the ground. He kicked his feet back and forth. Finally there was a small beep and River looked up from the camera.

"Alright," he said, now looking at Ben, "I want you to give me a summary on what has happened to you in these past two years. I know that's asking for a lot, but it's protocol, and you're at liberty to nix out gruesome details if you feel uncomfortable explaining them. You ready?"

Ben stared astonished at the formality of his interviewer.

"How old are you?" he finally asked.

"Nineteen, sir."

"So you must have been seventeen when the shit hit the fan?"

"Yes, just finishing my senior year at NHPS."

"NHPS?"

"New Haven Primary School, now if you could tell me where you were-."

"Jesus, you were just seventeen…" Ben was lost for a moment.

"If you could tell me where you were when the FV hit, that would be a good start."

"You probably get this a lot," Ben avoided his question, "but how has a town of this size managed to stay, oh, operational during all of…this?"

"I do get that a lot," River kept composure, "and that will be answered at the end of the catalogue. This is about you sir, not me."

"Alright," Ben said, the smile returning to his scared face, "I'll play along."

"_Let's see, when all of this happened, I was on my way back home from a convention in Springfield- I lived in Bloomington at the time, worked for an advertising agency out of an apartment downtown- when I ran into a traffic jam on Interstate 55. Cars were backed up for miles, people were gathered outside of their vehicles, looked like I wouldn't be getting out of there for a while. I put my Toyota into park and turned on the radio. That's when the static hit. And then, well, you know. Chicago went. Could see the cloud from the road, rose up like a goddamned hot air balloon. Well people started to panic, cars trying to back out of their spaces to get the hell away from there, people running for their damned lives. I got out of my car just as some poor bastard flew by me screaming, "It's the end of the world! It's Revelation!" I decided that the best thing to do would be to get back into the car, ha. The radio was still screwed up, so I sat there for a minute to gather my thoughts. _

_Okay. _

_Let's see. _

_Got a friend who lives in Chicago, that's it. No major relatives. Gonna miss that friend, though. _

_After that, I put the car into drive and sped over the ditch dividing the sides of the interstate. Already a flood of traffic came billowing down the other side, saw a few crashes on the way. I got about twenty miles on that ditch without running into trouble, which really surprised me. That's when I came to the wreck. Fire everywhere, people trying to put it out. When all of the sudden, a fucking body came flying out of the smoke and flames, and latched itself onto a person trying to help. Scared the shit out of me. I got out of my car, and yelled at the group of people looking on, and then saw the blood. The guy was charbroiled, burned to a crisp, and attacking this guy on the ground. Like something out of a damned horror movie. Naturally I was a bit shocked. That's where I think I got the first of these white hairs. The other people moved in, and tried to wrench the burning guy off of the guy on the ground, but it looked like their skin had….melted together. Can I have some water?" _

"Sure thing," River looked towards the window, "Hey Joe." From the other side of the two-way mirror, a man sitting behind a recording booth brought a microphone to his mouth.

"Can do bud." The man pressed a button on the recording booth and rose from his chair. He walked to the other side of the recording booth and withdrew a water bottle from a plastic container. He exited the dark room and entered the dimly lit recording studio. He handed the bottle to Ben, who met him with a cordial, "Thank you." Joe exited the room, situated himself back into his chair, and pressed the button on the recording booth once again.

Ben refreshed himself with the water, and placed the bottle down next to him.

"As you were saying?"

"_Oh yeah, well to make a long story short, I got the hell out of there. Made my way back to Bloomington, saw a lot of crazy shit on the way there. When I finally reached town, I saw how bad things had gotten. Houses on fire, people running in the street, bodies, the whole shebang. I honestly had seen so much in such a short time span that none of this fazed me; I just needed to get home. Get some things together before I plan my next move. Thought I'd start from there. I noticed I was running low on gas, but, as I said, I didn't think about this. All I thought was_

_gotta keep moving._

_Gotta get home._

_And then I found it…burned to a fucking crisp. Everything…was gone. All my work, all my life was in that apartment. I got another white hair there. So that jarred me pretty bad. Had to rethink everything. First thing on that list was gas…do I need to explain the whole two years?" _

"No, just annotate it as much as you can, only tell anything _you _consider important information."

"Maybe you could give me something to work off of? Ha." His tone was annoyance.

"Did you encounter any of the infected at first hand?"

"_Oh yeah, multiple times. One of the first things I did was snatch me a weapon, Colt .45, M1911, first gun I ever had to use. Had to teach myself how to work the thing. I was lucky to even get one, because everyone's first place to go was a gun store. People flooded them, usually sparking a riot of some sort. Some people got shot; that just added to the body count. I got my Colt plain and simple, Wal-Mart. Grabbed some food while I was at it. I guess I was one of the luckier ones. But yeah, back to your question, I have encountered a few Deaders. Had to exterminate some, shoot 'em in the head. Learned that the hard way…_

"Did you ever join any groups of people, or convoys?"

"_No, I tried to avoid people at most costs. Thought I'd be better off that way. Every group of survivors I ever heard about usually didn't turn out for the best, that's why I'm so surprised that you all have managed here, as a community y'know?"_

"Why did you decide to travel north?"

"_Well I heard on the radio-when I finally found one that worked-that there was a CDC camp up north that was housing survivors. But I guess that rumor could have been started anywhere, huh? I mean, this is the first place I've come across that actually takes refugees. Milwaukee's completely taken over, or so I've been told. Chicago's gone. And, now that I've been closer to the border, I don't think there's even a CDC camp, is there?"_

"Not to our knowledge, no."

"_So this is it, huh? This is where I stop walking…"_

"Sir?" River looked concerned for the first time, "Are you okay?"

"You're Roger's son, right?" Ben looked up, tears crossed his eyes.

"Yes sir, I am."

"_Roger was the one who let me in, I had just come out of the tunnel. I don't even know why I had gone through there. I guess I was too delusional, hadn't eaten in days. You know how hard it is to find clean food, or water for that matter? It's a fucking nightmare out there. How have you had enough food and water to survive here?"_

"New Haven was a trading intersection, a kind of storage point for business companies. Underneath us, as we speak, is over forty thousand tons of supplies needed to survive on a day to day basis. My mother counts that supply every day, and we've estimated that we have enough food and water to last us another ten years."

"How do you keep it from expiring?"

"We refrigerate it, most of it."

"How does that help?"

"It does."

"And water? How can you get enough clean water?"

"We have natural springs near us, but most of our water, as I said, is in storage."

"Oh, right…" Ben trailed off once again.

"Sir, you said you were on the road for some time? Did you spend all of the two years traveling?"

"_Actually, no, I didn't. I decided to try and find my sister before I headed to the border. She lived in Des Moines..."_

"Lived?"

"Yes, lived."

"I'm sorry."

"_It's quite alright, I got there and found out the whole city had been taken over by Deaders. When I found her house, it was broke into, old memories stolen, and then I found her. Lying on her bed…with a bullet through her head. She still looked like an angel…her arms spread out like the damned Messiah."_

"Do you need a tissue, sir?"

"No, no," Ben wiped the tears from his eyes, "I need to talk about it. Someone needs to know."

"_Might as well be the camera." _

_

* * *

_

"Alright," River said, shifting in his seat, "I think we have all the information we need. Thank you so much for your time." River rose to shake Ben's hand, and Ben accepted the offering, giving back a firm grip.

"No," he said with a weak smile, "Thank you." River turned off the camera and began to dismantle the tripod which it was attached to. Ben got up, stared at the ceiling and began to move towards the exit. He looked back to his young interviewer.

"You know," Ben's voice was weak, almost a whisper, "I still see her. I see her in the hope of everyone in this town. I…I think I'm finally home." And he smiled. River smiled too.

_Number fifty-three, Benjamin Grecky. _

Joe clicked off the recording booth's power and turned on the lights of the recording studio. Ben had already exited the facility, and had made his way to the exit of the town hall, which was where the recording studio was located. River opened the door leading into the recording booth, and met Joe as he threw away his own bottle of water.

"Tell me you were recording when he got all sentimental."

River chuckled and scratched his head. "Can't say I was."

"Eh, there'll be more. How's that compilation video coming along?"

"About half way done, trying not to add too much emotional stuff."

"I'm telling you," Joe walked past River, "got to get those monologues, dude. That shit is golden."

River was left alone in the recording studio, watching the playback from what he just recorded. Plotting out which parts he'd use for his "compilation". He sniffled.

"_Did I ever finish the comp-video?"_

"_No, can't say I did." _


End file.
